


Pushing Daisies - A Tyrus Story

by MerMagicAnaLily



Series: Andi Mack in Other Media [8]
Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Buffy is a P.I., Cyrus can wake the dead, Dead T.J., F/F, F/M, M/M, Pushing Daisies AU, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-30 20:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerMagicAnaLily/pseuds/MerMagicAnaLily
Summary: Cyrus Goodman can wake the dead, but only once. If he touches them a second time, they’re dead forever. T.J. Kippen is dead. They’re childhood friends, they both have a dead parent...and they’re in love. How will they make pies together while never touching again?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to yet another fic! If you haven’t already, please check out my other stuff, and if you read this, please for the love of all that is Tyrus being canon, COMMENT! This is the only way I’ll get through law school is by smiling at comments. Love you all!

When Cyrus Goodman was 7 years old, he was a relatively happy boy. He would go around and play in the neighborhood and nearby fields and didn’t mind too much that his parents were divorced and remarried. He was still a happy boy, with four parents instead of just two, so he thought he was quite lucky in that respect. Cyrus Goodman also had a best friend in Thelonious Jagger Kippen, the neighbor boy who had a distant mother, a very present father, and a very caring older sister named Amber. Thelonious Jagger, however, hated his name and went by the moniker T.J. Cyrus and T.J. adored playing together in their gardens and backyards and even playing with Cyrus Goodman’s dog, Peanut Butter.

However, today was a very different day, because today, Cyrus Goodman, aged seven years, four months, and thirteen days would discover that he was special. You see, this is the day that Peanut Butter died. Cyrus threw the ball weakly, as he would usually would, but it rolled down the hill. Peanut Butter, ever the loyal golden retriever, bound down the side of the hill and was hit by a car, instantly killing him.

Cyrus ran down the hill and stared at his dog. It was very clear that Peanut Butter was dead. Thankfully, it wasn’t gory, but no less traumatizing. It was like the scene of Mufasa’s death in The Lion King. Not knowing what else to do, Cyrus pressed a single finger against his loyal dog’s belly.

Miraculously, Peanut Butter brightened up once more with color and jumped up, barking and leading Cyrus home, and Cyrus happily followed. He had discovered his new power. Unfortunately, he had not learned the price of his power as a crow fell from the sky behind him, as dead as could be.

* * *

Cyrus was back at home when he would learn one of the catches to his newfound ability. His mother decided to prepare a meal for him, a brisket, and his best friend T.J. was outside playing in the sprinklers with his father. Suddenly, Cyrus’s mother stopped stone cold when she fell over, dying of a sudden brain aneurysm. Cyrus was much calmer this time around, heading over to his mother’s side and looking her over. He slowly held out a finger and pressed it against his mother’s cheek and color once more returned to her lifeless body, and she took a deep breath. 

“Oh my,” she said. “I must have slipped on something, I hope I didn’t worry you too much,” she said and got up. She had an oven timer on and there was one minute left. And this is when Cyrus would learn of the cost of his power because for those next sixty seconds, everything was fine, but the instant the timer went off, T.J. Kippen’s father, who was outside playing with his sun, fell over flat on his face, dead. 

It was when T.J. was sitting inside his room, crying with a hot cup of tea while he waited for his mother and sister to return home from their trip to the next city over for Amber’s dance competition that Cyrus fully realized the first rule of his power: he could only bring back the dead for one minute before another life of equivalent value had to be taken away. 

Cyrus unfortunately learned the second rule when his mother was helping him prepare for bed. “That poor family,” she was telling him. “It’s a good thing he’s got such a good friend with you.”

“Yeah…” Cyrus was feeling guilty. “I know he loved his dad so much.”

“I know sweetie. Thank goodness he still has a mother and sister. This one friend of mine from my childhood, she only had a father and two agoraphobic aunts so when her father died, she was instantly home bound and barely able to get out.” She sighed. “Well...goodnight sweetie, sweet dreams.” She kissed his forehead and then immediately fell over again, dead. Cyrus got out of bed cautiously and touched her cheek again. Nothing. He tried again and again, absolutely nothing. That’s how Cyrus learned about the second rule of his power: first touch, alive, second touch, dead again. Forever.

_____________________

Three days later was the day of the double funeral. T.J. stood one side with his family watching his father get buried while Cyrus was on the other side with his stepmother and father. His stepfather, overrun with grief, decided to leave, and his stepmother and father thought that what would be best for him would be to send him to a boy’s boarding school on the other side of the country, away from where his mother was taken from him. 

When both services were over and they were about to go home, they met up. They both had feelings for each other, feelings that they were afraid were wrong because they were both boys, but feelings nonetheless. But they both decided to forgo their fears since today was a double funeral and the last day Cyrus was in his hometown of Shadyside as his father already made plans for him to go to the boarding school the next day. So Cyrus Goodmanwas seven years, four months, and sixteen days old when both he and Thelonious Jagger T.J. Kippen leaned in and kissed each other, saying goodbye. That day, they both thought it would be the last time they saw each other alive.

Of course, they were only half right.

* * *

We cut to today. Today, Cyrus Goodman is twenty three years, two months, and sixty seven days old, and a special pie-maker. He had his own restaurant called the Pie Hole, and he would take dead fruits and touch them, careful to only touch them once, bringing them back to their vibrant color before putting them in his pies. He still had Peanut Butter, but never pet him directly, using a wooden hand to scratch him instead and always wore gloves to put his leash on. He didn’t want anything to happen to his loyal dog. 

Several things have changed in his life. His next door neighbor and waitress of his restaurant was Iris Mason. She was a sweet girl and they enjoyed lots of similar things like going to Renaissance festivals, but there was one unspoken problem with their relationship: Iris Mason wanted Cyrus Goodman to love her as more than a friend, as a girlfriend and Cyrus Goodman was an undoubtedly, yet closeted, gay man. Nightly his thoughts drifted to his former neighbor and first kiss Thelonious Jagger T.J. Kippen, and the ensuing guilt of indirectly killing his father also weighed heavily on his mind. Regardless, Cyrus always felt bad because he did love Iris as his friend, just not so much as a potential romantic partner, but he was too afraid to come out of the closet. 

Only one person in his life currently knew that he was gay was Buffy Driscoll, his partner. Buffy was a private investigator who was regularly hired by both private clients and the police to solve murders. She used to have more trouble before one day she decided to walk past the Pie Hole. She saw a criminal running from the law fall from a tall height into a dumpster, dead as could be. She saw Cyrus Goodman start to take out the trash and accidentally touch the body. The guy woke up and tried to run, but Cyrus wasn able to grab his arm, making him dead again, and Cyrus dropped him, stepping back. 

Buffy immediately cornered him that day and proposed to keep his secret if he helped her. Solving murders was much easier if she could ask the victim. She was well versed in his rules and even became addicted to his blueberry macadamia pies, and eventually became one of his closest friends, and the only person he formally came out to after the third date she tried to set up with him ended in predictable disaster. 

However, it was today that Cyrus’s life would change because Buffy came in and handed him a newspaper. “We’re finding a murderer today,” she said. “Guy got killed on a cruise for singles. His sister hired me.”

“And here I was trying to make strawberry pie,” he sighed, holding the freshly ripened strawberry. “You’re going to have to help me make this one after, because I can’t touch this again.”

“Alright, but we have to go to the funeral home now so you can touch him and talk to him out of the casket.”

Cyrus sighed and looked at the name and his heart dropped. The murder victim was Thelonious Jagger T.J. Kippen. 

* * *

“Look, I get it, this is super emotional,” Buffy said, walking into the funeral home with him. “But you need to do this. Bring him back, keep him here for only one minute, then you do have to touch him again.”

“I know Buffy…” he sighed.

“I know he was your first love, but the rules are the ones you created yourself.”

“I know Buffy...but...can I do the questioning myself? Alone?”

“Cyrus….”

“I promise,” he said. “I just...I haven’t seen him since I was seven.”

“Alright. I’ll let you go. One minute.”

Cyrus was wearing a suit so he blended in with the scenery. Even though they were in a funeral home, there would be no funeral. T.J. Kippen was meant to be buried alone, his family already having said goodbye. Of course the only family he really had was his sister Amber and her wife Andi. 

Buffy was going to distract the funeral director until the time of the burial, or as long as necessary while Cyrus slipped into the room. The casket was open and he saw Thelonious Jagger Kippen, looking like he was sleeping peacefully, wearing a light colored suit with a green tie. His eyes were closed but Cyrus remembered that T.J. always had the most beautiful green eyes, and he knew that the tie probably looked very good with that tie. 

T.J. looked so calm, not like the little kid he knew who was always moving, play basketball or running or laughing or touching Cyrus’s arm or shoulder, but he could still see remnants of the first boy he’s ever kissed lying there. How should Cyrus wake him up? Normally the location of the touch didn’t matter so long as his skin touched the skin of the other Bergson, but this was T.J., Teej, Not-So-Scary-Basketball-Guy. Cyrus eventually settled on a gentle touch on the top of his nose. 

T.J. woke up with a gasp and immediately reached up and grabbed Cyrus by the tie, bringing him down hard on the lid of the casket. Cyrus cried out in pain while T.J. grabbed a chair. “Who are you?! Stay back!” 

“Teej! Stop! It’s me!” Cyrus rubbed his head and then moved his arm away, looking at his timer. He had plenty of time. “Cyrus Goodman.”

“Cyrus Goodman? My old neighbor who went to boarding school?”

“Also your best friend when we were seven…and you were my first kiss?”

T.J. put the chair down and smiled. “You were mine too.” He stepped forward to hug him and Cyrus took a step back. 

“Listen…you died...were murdered on the ship...I touched you and for a full minute you’re alive...I can do this sort of thing, but if I touch you again, you’ll be dead forever.” 

“Oh...oh...no bringing me back again?”

“No, one and done….Teej I have to know, do you know who murdered you?”

“All I know is that the guy was homophobic.”

“How do you know that?” He asked, his heart picking up. 

“I mean, I was openly gay on that cruise, and the last thing I remember is a deep male voice saying “Die faggot,” before he put a plastic bag over my face. That’s it.”

“Well….that’s not much to go on…” he looked at the timer. Ten seconds. “You only have ten seconds left.”

“Well...I guess it’s time to go for good...I wish I remembered what’s on the other side…”

“There’s another side?”

“There’s something...I just cant describe it…I guess I’m a little disoriented...So...now you touch me again?” 

He nodded. “Any request on where I should touch you?”

T.J. smiled. “How about a kiss? I haven’t gotten one from you in years.”

Cyrus smiled and leaned in, but his heart protested, yelling at him, and he realized he couldn’t do it. “How about...what if you didn’t have to die?”

“I mean...T.J. said. “That would be preferable…” 

Cyrus looked at the timer and saw the one turn into a zero. “Well...one minute is officially up, no need to die now,” he said. “So…” he looked around. “Get in the casket.”

“I thought you said I didn’t need to die now!”

“You don’t, but you can’t exactly walk out of here...you’re on the news as a dead guy. Luckily they keep calling you Thelonious Jagger.”

He groaned. “My worst nightmare….sorry…”

“Get in the casket, and I’ll get you out after. Promise.” He stopped. “And remember...you can’t touch me...ever…”

He nodded and got in the casket. “See you in a bit.” 

Cyrus nodded and closed the casket, walking out. Buffy caught up with him. “You did it?”

“Yup.”

“He’s dead?”

“Yup.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.” Cyrus did wonder who was dead in T.J.’s place, and the person who was in fact dead was the funeral director, a man who stole jewelry off of the bodies of the dead to pawn them off for extra cash along with charging exorbitant amounts for the services. Now, he was the one dead in the funeral home, and still sitting on the toilet after having a severe case of diarrhea caused by his lactose intolerance and his affinity for having whipped cream.

“Alright. Who killed him?”

“Some homophobe...turns out he’s actually gay…”

“Wait, legit? Your first crush is actually gay?”

“Apparently...he chuckled a little. “Sorry...just...I need…” he saw the casket being led out and taken into the hearse. 

“I gotta go.”

Buffy followed his line of vision. “No….no...Cyrus no! Tell me you didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” He said starting to run. 

“Didn’t keep him alive!”

“I swear I didn’t do anything…” 

“Oh my god you didn’t touch him! He’s alive in that casket!”

“Yeah and now the damage is done on the other end,” he said. “Might as well save him now!”

* * *

Buffy Driscoll could not have been angrier. Cyrus had lied to her. He never lied to her. Now he lied to her to the point that they were chasing a hearse. “What even if the plan?” 

“You distract the people putting him in the grave, and I’ll get them out.”

“Dumb plan.”

“Well we’re not planning a heist, we’re freeing a dead guy.” Cyrus waited until Buffy pulled to a stop and ran out. Buffy rolled her eyes and pulled the guys aside, and Cyrus sprinted to the open grave, kneeling at the side and opening the lid of the casket to see T.J. smiling up at him. “Hi…”

“Hey,” he said, seeing Cyrus smile. “Can I go live again?” 

“Within reason,” Cyrus stepped back grabbing a shovel to help T.J. pull himself out. “I missed you a hell lot.” 

“I missed you too,” T.J. said. “You were my first kiss...and my first crush...and the guy who helped me realize I’m gay…”

Cyrus smiled too. “You did the same for me. You were my first kiss...and crush...and the cause of my gay panic. But it’s great you could live openly.”

“You’re not out?”

“I’ve got my foot in the door,” he said. “I’m working on it. My waitress is in love with me...that’s awkward,” he laughed. 

“That’s the Underdog I remember,” he was about to clap his hand on Cyrus’s shoulder but stopped. 

“Let’s go home…” Cyrus said. “My home.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Cyrus Goodman was sixteen years, nine months, and twenty-seven days old, he attempted for the first time to sneak a toe out of the metaphorical sexuality closet. There was a boy, Jeremy Thompson, aged sixteen two months and fourteen days, who also had feelings towards the same sex. Both of them kept it quiet at their all boys school, especially considering the fact that they were both roommates and the school board tended to lean quite conservative. 

Cyrus and Jeremy tended to find themselves sharing one bed quite often, triple checking that the door was locked and a chair strategically placed under the door knob as they explored their feelings, both the feelings in their heads and hearts, and the physical feeling of touch as uniforms were discarded and they often found themselves under bed sheets. They were hormonal teenagers after all.

Their explorations, however exciting and, at times, tender, had to come to an end the day they were a little careless disposing of evidence and a condom was found in their trash can. An investigation followed, the boys were separated and told to speak to their respective religious leaders, and encouraged to pray to the deity of their choosing to remove the curse of “homoeroticism,” as the boarding school’s headmaster put it. After that, Cyrus Goodman never touched another man in that way again, and he never touched a woman like that at all.

* * *

Currently, Cyrus Goodman was twenty-three years, two months, and sixty-seven days old when he looked over to his passenger seat to see Thelonious Jagger Kippen, aged twenty-three years, eight months, and fourteen days old, looking around and trying to accept his new fate. 

“So…” T.J. said. “I’m dead?”

“Kind of,” Cyrus responded. 

“Kind of?”

“You did die, but you’re not dead anymore.”

“So am I undead? Like a zombie?”

“No, more like...have you seen those cheesy Hallmark movies where someone dies and goes up to heaven and they talk to either God or an angel saying they weren’t ready to die and then God or the angel presses a button and the person wakes up from whatever accident like nothing ever happened?”

“Yes.”

“Imagine that, except instead of God, it’s me, and there’s no button, only my touch,” he said. “And I can only touch you once to keep you alive.”

“So...we can never touch again?”

“Never.”

“Not even for a second?”

“It took a second to wake you up.”

“And any touch anywhere means I die again.” 

“Yes.”

“And if I die again, I’m dead for good, no bringing me back?”

“Exactly.”

He sighed. “Can I touch anyone?”

“You can touch everyone...just not me.”

“Can you touch anyone?”

“Anyone who isn’t dead or has never been dead as of yet,” Cyrus said. 

“So basically I’m the only person you can’t touch.”

“Well...I haven’t pet Peanut Butter since I was seven…”

T.J. smiled at the memory. “You still have Peanut Butter? I loved that dog. It was pretty much both of our families dog...wait...Peanut Butter died?”

“When I was seven. Got run over by a car. I touched him before I discovered my full breadth of my powers. I was lucky not to touch him again.”

“Why not keep people alive?” T.J. asked. “You told me you only had one minute earlier…”

“One minute before there’s a consequence.”

“What’s the consequence?”

“Nothing of importance don’t worry,” Cyrus said quickly. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it handled.”

“Okay…” he said uncertain. “Why not revive your mother after she died?”

“I did…” Cyrus said sadly. “She kissed me goodnight. It’s how I found out about the second touch rule.”

T.J. was about to say something again when the backseat door opened and Buffy came in. “Hope you know what you got us into Loverboy. Hello Dead Boy.”

“Um...hello?” T.J. looked back at Buffy and then at Cyrus. 

“T.J., this is Buffy, the Private Investigator I told you I worked with,” Cyrus said. “Buffy, this is T.J., my childhood neighbor.”

“The murder victim,” she said bluntly. “You a jock?”

“Uh...yeah...basketball?”

“Hm…” she looked him up and down. “Wouldn’t think you’d be his type…”

“Buffy,” Cyrus snapped her out of it. “I’m letting him process said murder, and death...and how he can’t touch me…”

“Which is a shame,” T.J. said. “Because you were kind of my first love…”

Cyrus smiled and absolutely melted under T.J.’s green eyes. “You were my first love too...and I really want to hug you and hold your hand….” He looked at Buffy with puppy dog eyes, and she rolled her eyes and leaned forward, hugging T.J. around the passenger seat of the car. “Just...that hug is from me…and it’s to reassure you that we’ll find out what happened and keep you safe...even if it means I can’t hold your hand like I’ve wanted to since I was seven years old.”

T.J. smiled and seemed to melt into the arms around him, pretending they were Cyrus’s and Buffy rolled her eyes. “This is God punishing me for using your gifts...isn’t it?” Buffy asked abstractly. “It is...I’m being punished I swear.”

“Buffy,” Cyrus whined. 

“I’m not kissing him.”

Both men groaned.

“Don’t worry, I’m too gay for your kiss, even by proxy,” T.J. said. And Cyrus sighed.

“You’re so...open…” 

“Open?”

“Here we go,” Buffy mumbled. 

“About who you are, your sexuality,” Cyrus said. “You can just go out and say that you’re gay, even to a complete stranger like Buffy.”

“You’re not open? I mean...you’re gay, right?”

“Yeah...and just about the only people who know are in this car right now,” he said. “And this one guy back in boarding school when I was sixteen, but that’s another story.”

“Are you gonna talk about Jeremy Thompson again?”

“No! No I’m not, nor am I gonna talk about the dumb orthodox rabbi they brought in which is even more ridiculous since I was raised conservative by my father and reform by my mother…”

“Cyrus…?”

He sighed. “I hooked up with my boarding school roommate and then we were both sent to conversion therapy. It sucked, it’s over, I’m fine,” he said. 

“That’s not okay,” he said, he went to reach out to Cyrus and sighed, taking Buffy’s hand and looking at her with his own puppy dog eyes. She sighed and touched Cyrus’s hand instead. “Who you are is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed,” he said, gripping Buffy’s hand. “Nice manicure by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m just more nervous about how other people will treat me. I don’t want them to look and treat me weirdly. Just...I’m fine, I swear. Besides, I’ve never felt about anyone the way I’ve felt about you.”

“I’m getting a toothache,” Buffy said, holding both of their hands. 

“We went through a lot of feelings these past few hours safe to say,” Cyrus said. “My first love died, came back, and now I can never touch him again without him dying for good.”

“Granted,” she said. “But remember, nobody can know he’s alive, and his sister is covering both of our rents with finding out who killed him.”

“Wait...Amber paid you to find my murderer?”

“Yup...she did…” 

“And? How is she?” 

“No clue,” Cyrus said. “Buffy made all the contact. I can go in for the follow-up...and comfort pies.”

“Pies...you make your mom’s pies?”

He nodded. “I’ve got each one of her recipes.”

“Oh my god, I’m about to put the dead boy in the trunk!” Buffy said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Cyrus and Buffy dropped T.J. off at Cyrus’s apartment before he went with Buffy to Amber’s house. She lived in hers and T.J.’s old childhood home with her spouse, and that’s all Cyrus knew. He had made an apple-pear pecan pie and was holding it carefully so as not to disturb the fruits. Buffy rang the doorbell and he stood there awkwardly. How was he supposed to react?

Amber opened the door and looked at them. “Wait...Are you Cyrus Goodman?” He nodded nervously. “You look like you used to...just older…”

“You look like you did too, only older now...and Buffy told me you’re married?”

“Yes,” she said. “Come in, come in.” 

The inside of the house was almost exactly the way Cyrus remembered it, down to the grand black piano in the middle of what most people would have deemed a dining room and what Mrs. Kippen made a music room. 

“I remember T.J. and I would make up funny songs on that piano,” he said. 

“Before both of us lost a parent,” Amber said. “And on the same day…”

Cyrus felt a pang of guilt for being the cause of Amber and T.J. losing a father. “And your mother?” He asked.

“Cancer,” she said. “Died last June. It’s what made T.J. decide to use up all of his money and go on a singles cruise. He said that if he didn’t live now, who knows how he would have...and now…” she sniffed and Cyrus rubbed her shoulder.

“I know how you feel, well…not exactly,” he said. “T.J. was my first love...we kissed the day before I left...the day of the joint funeral..” he sighed. “When I saw the paper saying he died...was murdered...I almost wanted to throw up from grief. And then Buffy was hired for your case…”

“And you know Buffy?”

“Buffy is my partner, or really, I’m her partner. I have a way of making the silent speak...so to speak,” he said awkwardly. “I made you a pie.”

“Smells like your mother’s,” she said.

“Her recipe. So...your wife?”

“Yes, Andi’s this amazing artist...she’s at her studio downtown. I haven’t left the house since my mother died herself and I can’t bear even thinking about going without Jag...I know he’s in a better place now…”

That better place, what Amber did not know, was Cyrus’s fifth floor, one bedroom apartment, where T.J. was currently playing with a dog that had not been touched with warm human hands for almost fifteen years. Peanut Butter was loving T.J. and T.J. was loving Peanut Butter. 

“I’m sure he is...even if we Jews think of the afterlife...in a different manner…” Judaism had a very vague view of the afterlife, but did believe in rejoining with ancestors. “T.J.’s death will mean that he’s reunited with your mother and father, like everyone is reunited.”

“You sound like “Coco,”” she sniffed. 

“Well...common theme I guess,” he said. “We just envision less...skeletal beings…” 

She giggled a little at that. “At least he’s back playing piano with mom and throwing a ball with dad.”

T.J. was, in fact, throwing a ball, but it was with the dog Peanut Butter, not his deceased father.

“I’m sure wherever he is, he’s happy.”

T.J. was bittersweet, but there was happiness there.

“Well...what did you find out about his murder?” Amber asked them, taking the pie to the kitchen and debating whether or not to cut into it. 

“Oh, I can’t eat it...pecan allergy,” he said. “I’m able to make it just fine though so don’t worry about my personal safety.”

Amber nodded. “Andi and I will enjoy this later,” she said. “And Jag?”

“We know it was a hate crime,” Buffy said. “Witnesses say that they recall hearing a masculine voice saying “die faggot.””

“Of course it was a homophobe,” she sighed. “Should Andi and I be worried?”

“I wouldn’t,” Cyrus said. “You’re far inland and most people don’t know you’re married to a woman.” 

“Alright...but I will ask for police protection. That won’t be awkward, will it?”

“Not at all,” Buffy said. “Ask for Marty. He owes me a few favors.”

* * *

Cyrus arrived home to see T.J. petting and cuddling his dog. “Oh wow...Peanut butter must be loving that...but it’s time for his ear drops.”

“Ear drops?”

Cyrus went to the kitchen and came out with rubber gloves and a little medicine bottle. “Yeah, constant ear infections,” he whistled and Peanut Butter bound off the couch and obediently lay down for Cyrus to hold his ears up and put the drops in.

“I thought you couldn’t touch him.”

“I can’t touch him directly,” Cyrus said. “Skin to skin. So the gloves are a barrier. I can touch him through barriers.” He finished up the drops and headed back into the kitchen. T.J. got up to follow him. 

“So...say in the winter…” he said heading to the kitchen and slyly opening drawers. “We can hold hands through gloves?”

“As long as our wrists are covered and they don’t touch,” Cyrus said, putting things back and looking through his cupboards to start making dinner. “But now you’re making me pine for winter.”

“And...does the barrier have to be thick?” T.J. smiled when he found what he was looking for and pulled it out slyly.

“No, just as long as it prevents both of our skin from touching,” Cyrus said. “Looking for loopholes?”

“I think I found one…” 

Cyrus went to turn around and ask T.J. follow up questions when T.J. held up a sheet of plastic cling wrap to Cyrus’s face, pressing it against him before leaning in and kissing him through it. Cyrus was shocked for a full five seconds before he relaxed, closing his eyes and leaning into the kiss. He was resentful and grateful for the plastic cling wrap currently keeping a thin barrier between him and Thelonious Jagger Kippen. They broke apart and T.J. started ripping the plastic cling that was used and throwing it in the trash. 

“I’m stockpiling that. There’s to be no less than fifteen cases of this at the apartment at all times.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please, once again, comment! And tell me if you’d be down for a Croods AU? Also tell me which fic you want to read the chapter for next: Incredibly Enchanted (Hogwarts AU) or Welcome to Sky High (Basically a superhero AU) also let me know if there’s something you’ve been dying to read and haven’t seen yet!!!  
Love you all!


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